


In Absence of a Thousand Words

by Helen8462



Series: Tumbler Prompts, Challenges and Other Inspired Vignettes [5]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Bring them together, F/M, Post-Resolutions, Subtle Romance, Unspoken things, Until there are no more words, artwork, in every possible way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/pseuds/Helen8462
Summary: Can a relationship be mended, can it grow and change?  Will it blossom without a single word being spoken?





	In Absence of a Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [m_class](https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_class/gifts).



> This story is for warp6 aka. m-class whose real-life adventures continue to be a source of inspiration for my muse. I can only hope this story makes her appreciate her recent situation. Also for my son who said I should write about “someone painting.” Many thanks to Cheile for her quick beta and encouragement! 
> 
> Set five months after their rescue from New Earth.

Kathryn Janeway stood in the darkened mess hall. 

She was barely aware that the commotion and festivities of the evening had drawn to a close over an hour ago.  Though she could still hear Neelix in the back, cleaning and humming to himself, she felt completely alone - lost in the simple painting which rested on an easel in front of her. 

The art exhibition had been a resounding success.  Twenty-three crew members had submitted articles for consideration in the show and for the subsequent, anonymous judging that would reveal a prize-winner in the morning.  Most, if not all, of the off-duty crew had attended the event and it was evident that all who did enjoyed themselves immensely.

What remained of the festivities were watercolor and oil paintings of various sizes scattered throughout the room.  Two pastel and three charcoal drawings hung on the pillars along the large windows.  Several sculptures of various mediums and cultural diversity, a wood-burnt landscape and a small piece of metal-worked jewelry sat on pedestals placed down the center of an aisle.  Finally, by the galley, were displayed a few framed photographs and one, dyed-textile collage. 

Kathryn noticed that each and every one of the entries had been very well thought out and executed. She smiled proudly, as a mother might, at the display of talent which up until this point had remained fairly hidden amongst her crew.  However, despite the anonymity of the show, she could take a reasonable guess at the artist behind each.

And that’s what worried her.

Because for the painting in front of her, she could think of only one creator.

She sighed, ran a hand through her hair and then plopped down on the couch, eyes never leaving the painting.  It was a relatively small piece of work, only slightly larger than a dinner plate, but the detail was exquisite - the subject, oddly close to home.

A thought crossed her mind. 

“Neelix?” she asked turning her head slightly to the kitchen. 

The Talaxian stopped humming and appeared from behind the counter. 

“Yes, Captain?  Can I get you something?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me who submitted this entry,” she said, pointing at the painting.

Neelix tilted his head with a cocked smile.  “Ah, hm.  Not sure I’m supposed to divulge the artists until the morning,” he said regretfully. 

Kathryn nodded and turned her head back to the easel.  “I promise, it will be our little secret.”

Neelix wagged his head back and forth.  “All right.  What’s a few hours between friends?  I’ll go check and be right back.”

“Thank you,” she replied.  Then she turned to remind him as he walked away.  “It’s number seventeen.”

She refocused her attention on the painting.  Done in light watercolors, it featured a fresh, grassy green landscape outstretching to the edges and into the center where a sandy shore met a wide river.   The water did not seem treacherous, rather calm and peaceful, as if begging those who visited to take a swim. 

All of that carefully crafted beauty considered, it was the figures of a man and a woman, on opposing shores that held her attention. Between them was a small, wooden boat floating just out of reach of both.

Neelix returned with a PADD in his hand and thumbed through the lines.  “Here we go, number seventeen.  ‘ _Too Far Apart._ ’”

She waited to hear the name she expected.  And so, when Neelix said “Megan Delaney” instead, she all but fell off of her seat.

“Who?”

“Megan Delaney,” the Talaxian repeated. 

“Let me see that,” she said, taking the PADD from his outstretched hand.  There, in yellow and black, was the truth he had just spoken. 

“Not who you were expecting?”

“I… I didn’t know who to expect,” she lied.  Then she checked the PADD one more time.  “What does the asterisk mean?” she questioned, referring to the mark next to Megan’s name.

“Ah, it means the work was commissioned.  I’m sorry Captain, looks like your painting is already spoken for.  But perhaps the ensign could make a print for you.”

Kathryn nodded.  She hadn’t really considered wanting the painting for herself, but having found out that it was created for someone else added another layer of complexity to the puzzle laid out in front of her.

“Thank you Neelix, I promise this will stay between us,” she vowed, handing the PADD back to him.

“I’m heading back to finish the dishes.  Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

She shook her head softly, only half hearing his words.  When the captain left the mess hall a few minutes later, she found that the image of the woman - her long, auburn hair wafting gently in the painted breeze – had been permanently etched in her mind.

* * *

“Did you hear who won the judging?” Chakotay asked as he slipped into his chair next to Kathryn on the bridge the next morning.  

“Yes.  Ensign Lang.  I have to agree, her sculpture was striking.”

Chakotay nodded.  “I thought all of the entries were top notch.  Neelix said it was such a success that the artists want to make it a regular event.  He’s planning another in three months.” 

“That’s good to hear,” she said, absentmindedly tapping at the console.  “We could all use more art in our lives.”

“Did you have any favorites?”

Her breath caught in her throat.  _Is he fishing?_ she wondered.   “I enjoyed the charcoal drawing of the L-Class nebula.  I thought it was interesting how Crewman Jor was able to draw it so vividly without the use of color.”  Then she paused.  “Of course, your pyrography forest was also very nice.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a small bow of his head.  “And, I also liked Jor’s.  Hers was very good, but it wasn’t my favorite…” he trailed off, waiting for her to reciprocate the question.

“Ah.”  Kathryn nervously checked the chronometer.  “I’m due for a meeting in Engineering.  You have the bridge, Commander.”

She heard Chakotay let out a heavy sigh as she left.

* * *

For the next week, Kathryn flitted over that painting in her mind and found herself subconsciously avoiding the mess hall while the exhibits were still on display.  That is, until her restless thoughts would win over at some ungodly late hour and she would sneak in to take another look.  On the third night she had spent nearly an hour tracing through the brushstrokes and contemplating hidden meanings, a fact she would be loath to admit.

She could go to Ensign Delaney and simply ask who had commissioned the work - put an end to the madness once and for all - but she really didn’t need to.  In her heart, she knew it was Chakotay and she was certain that this was a message aimed straight at her.

There was so much sentiment in that painting, she realized after serious consideration.  The river may well have been pulled right from her mind’s eye.  It was, without a doubt, the one from New Earth.  That the construct was Chakotay’s idea was further evidenced by the boat.  It was of the rough-hewn, log design that she had seen only briefly on his computer before returning to Voyager.

Then, there were the figures.  She wondered, if when Chakotay had commissioned the work, he had told the artist to craft the woman in her own likeness.  The long, auburn hair was a dead giveaway.  As was the dress, one of his favorites, salmon-colored with the pockets that she used to put her hands in and use to swing the skirt about while she walked. 

But of course he wouldn’t have said “paint Captain Janeway looking across the river at me.”  He wouldn’t be that brazen.  Perhaps he had told Megan that it was his sister she would be depicting.  A representation of the distance still left until they reached Earth, perhaps. 

The second individual was more of a shadow in the trees than of an actual man.  Blurred by the fading perspective of the painting, no one would have assumed it was Chakotay.  But she knew.  Oh, she knew.

And the realization hurt.

They hadn’t spoken of New Earth since being whisked back to reality a short, five months ago.  They hadn’t spoken of the closeness that had begun to form between them.  Instead, they slipped right back into formality and duty.  She knew it was her doing more than his, her need to separate her personal life from her professional one ran deep.  But it had been harder than she expected, keeping the more intimate thoughts of him from her mind.  And perhaps in her attempt to return to normal, she had overshot the mark just a bit, sliding backwards from where they had started.

As the painting showed, she was on her shore with duty and responsibility – a sole mission – and lives at stake.  And he was on the other side, still faithfully waiting, offering advice and support - shouting across this distance that separated them.  The man in the painting was frozen in time.  But they weren’t, and she doubted he would wait forever.  If only it was as simple as slipping into the calm water and wading across.

Or, maybe she was reading into the whole thing just a little too much. 

On the final evening of the art display, Kathryn found herself once again staring at the painting in a darkened mess hall.  She reluctantly lifted a holo-camera from its heavy place at her side and captured a single image. 

Her mind mulled one final time over why he would choose to commission such a work.  Certainly it wasn’t like him to be spiteful or to do something that would knowingly hurt her.  Maybe this was something he was still working through as well.  Or perhaps he was opening a line of communication.  Did he hope that the painting would imbibe her with some kind of strength to do what she knew in her heart she wanted to do?

Go to him.

Talk to him.

If so, his plan had backfired.  Instead, now, every time she saw him she felt the river growing quicker and wider – the boat further from her grasp.  With each word the divide became more treacherous.  Because if their conversation wasn’t about their future together, then it was a lie.  A cover up.  An omission. 

An error to be rectified.

* * *

Three months later, Commander Chakotay filed in line outside of the mess hall and waited patiently for the doors to open.  Inside would be revealed the works for the second showing of Voyager’s artistic talents.  He had declined to submit an entry this go around and rather preferred his standing as a patron.

It felt like an eternity had passed since his commissioned painting had been on display here - since he had tried to open lines of communication with its intended target.  He didn’t really know what he had expected to come from such a subtle gesture.  And perhaps in her business capacity and solitary focus, Kathryn hadn’t even taken notice of the painting at all.  It certainly hadn’t become the topic of conversation as he had hoped.  She had seemed more interested in discussing upgrades to the warp manifold than the artistic talents of her crew.

He sighed and progressed forward with the others. 

“Come in!  Come in!” Neelix shouted to his guests.  Everyone joined into a large grouping by the door to regard their emcee.

“This evening, I’m very excited to welcome you all to the second exhibition of the Voyager Artists Guild.  Tonight, we have nineteen exhibits by our own very talented crew.  Since we are all now familiar with the mediums and styles of our artists it wasn’t practical to keep making these anonymous.  So, the artists will be available all evening to be lavished with praise,” he said with a wink.  “No judging this time, just enjoy!”

Everyone clapped and began to mingle outward.  Chakotay glanced around at the large turnout of crew.  He expected almost everyone off-duty was in attendance, save for one. 

Captain Janeway was nowhere to be found.

The commander went first to the sculptures situated in the middle of the room.  Then he traversed through the paintings.  He paused to speak with Megan Delaney, studied her watercolor of a farmhouse and thanked her again for the work she had done for him.  He swung through the pastel drawings and then admired the photography.

When Chakotay had thought that he had visited all of the exhibitions, and appropriately complimented their creators, he moved on to the food.  Light hors d'oeuvres, fruit, glasses of wine and champagne and a selection of petit four desserts were almost as beautiful as the artwork.  He reached the end of the buffet with his plate and that’s when he saw it.

In the corner, toward the back, was Ensign Jor.  She was talking with Tom and B’Elanna, her body half-hiding the charcoal drawing that was her creation. 

Chakotay put his untouched plate down on the counter, swallowed the remainder of his flute of champagne, and walked with narrow-minded purpose to the drawing.    

“Was this commissioned?” he asked, without looking at Jor or even acknowledging the presence of the others.  B’Elanna raised an eyebrow to Tom and they silently moved away.

“Well, yes actually,” Jor replied, slightly taken aback. “Do you like it, Commander?”

He nodded but his eyes did not leave the framed paper.  

“Who?”

“Ah, I’m sorry.  I’m not at liberty to say,” she replied regretfully.  “The benefactor asked to remain anonymous.”

Chakotay wasn’t surprised, it was the same request he had made of Megan. 

His eyes traced every inch of the drawing frantically and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to reach out and touch the canvas.  It was nearly an exact duplicate of Ensign Delaney’s painting with two striking differences.  First, it was in black and white, though the way that Jor had constructed the shading it was still nearly as vivid as its color counterpart.  The second difference - and the one that Chakotay could not take his eyes off of - was that instead of a boat adrift in the middle of the river, there now was present, a pier.  The boat was docked solidly and well within the reach of the woman at the end.  Her hair still blowing in the breeze, she appeared ready to board.

The man on the other side was still waiting.  He hadn’t moved a muscle.

“It’s…  It’s stunning,” Chakotay finally choked out.  “Really.  Very good, Jor.”

Her face beamed.  “Thank you.  Of course, it’s not exactly original.  I had Megan’s blessing to remake the one from the last exhibition.  I thought she did such a lovely job with the watercolors, didn’t you?”

He nodded, silently.  Jor regarded him curiously, determined he needed some kind of space to enjoy her work, and moved off to partake in the refreshments.

When he was finally able to pull his eyes off of the image of the woman, he looked to a small inscription plaque at the bottom of the easel’s ledge.  The picture may have been worth a thousand words, but the four in italicized typeface were valued at so much more.  

He read them again and again.

_‘Coming Over To You’_

* * *

Hours later, Chakotay found himself walking back to his quarters in a half-daze of emotion.  Was it really possible that Kathryn had chosen to respond to his ever-so-subtle nudge in the form of a piece of commissioned artwork? 

The doubter in him searched fervently for other explanations.  Could it be that someone else on board had seen the painting and responded?  After all, it was an anonymously commissioned work and there were others on the ship who could have found meaning in the first painting.  His mind played through all plausible scenarios and came up empty.

That’s when reality started to sink in.  Was she really ready to come over to him?  Was she finally ready for more?  Like him, was she simply putting up an illusion of getting over what they had begun to build together on New Earth?

He tried so very hard not to get ahead of himself.  After all, she hadn’t given him any kind of signal in their real life to indicate a desire to take things to another level.  Their interactions these past months had been status quo.  She hadn’t asked about the painting or even given it the slightest bit of attention when she had come to his quarters where it was displayed.  But then again, he hadn’t exactly shined a flashlight onto it and asked her for analysis either.

Chakotay grabbed a bottle of gin and a glass off of his shelf.  Then, with his other hand he dragged a chair in his living area to the corner where Megan’s painting was hung on the wall.  He slumped to a seat and poured two fingers worth, shot it down and then rubbed his forehead. 

As much as he longed to go to Kathryn and ask her directly, he knew this was a different kind of conversation they were having.  It was a dance, really.  Unspoken as it was, he was surprised at just how much was being conveyed.  And, despite the illusion of minimal risk, there was quite a lot at stake.  

Chakotay threw back another drink, then put the bottle and glass onto the floor.  For the rest of the night he stared at that painting and contemplated his next move.

* * *

It was 2020 hours when Kathryn finally looked up from her work.  Nervous butterflies were twitching in her stomach.  Another forty minutes and the third Artists Guild exhibition would open.  Only a month had passed since the last show.  Neelix had insisted that this time the artists be pressed to create their masterpieces quickly.  He “wanted to see what they could do under pressure.”

Having had already changed out of her uniform and into a simple dress for the evening, there was nothing left for her to do but wait and reflect. 

True to form, exactly nothing had changed between her and Chakotay since she had commissioned Jor’s drawing.  It was a strangely silent tete-a-tete they had been having and she wasn’t quite sure if it would continue tonight or not.  The ball, or the boat as it was, had sailed firmly into his court.

Kathryn stood and ordered a cup of tea from the replicator.  She realized that she needed to calm down or else risk running to the exhibit in search of the next olive branch.  She was surprised and a bit scared at how much she longed for this soundless dialogue to continue - to progress.

The door to her quarters chimed and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Kathryn cleared her throat.  “Come,” she said, settling back into her chair.

Chakotay walked in and handed her a PADD.  “This week’s crew assignments and that engineering report you asked for.”

She scanned the screens with a nod.   

He shyly took in her form.  “You look very nice.  Headed to the exhibit?”

“Yes.  I can see you’re also dressed for the occasion,” she said, allowing her eyes to trail up and down his strong physique which was nicely highlighted by his choice of a well-fitting suit. 

“I’ll see you there,” he replied.  Then he turned for the exit.

A beeping of her commbadge made them both pause.

_‘Neelix to Captain Janeway’_

Though his back was still toward her, she noticed that Chakotay hadn’t progressed any further toward the door.  “Janeway here.”

_‘The exhibition is all set up, Captain.’_

“That’s good Neelix, I look forward to seeing it.”

_‘Commander Chakotay suggested that you might want to have a sneak peek.  Before the rest of the crew.’_

She watched as he turned slowly and nervously moistened his bottom lip.  “Shall we?”

She regarded him with a slanted eye.  “We’ll be right down,” she replied, closing the comm.

Wordlessly, they left the room.

Kathryn approached the doors to the mess hall unsure of what she would find there.  She was uncharacteristically thrilled, yet apprehensive at the same time – and a small, intimate part of her was extremely nervous.  As she stepped forward to activate the doors, Chakotay hung back ever so slightly. 

The room was dark. 

“Computer, lights,” she ordered.

“Fifty percent,” Chakotay added.

With a small gasp, Kathryn took in the sight laid out before her.  A trail of easels had been left to flank the inside of the entrance to the mess hall and led to the center of the room.

One by one, step by step, she regarded the displays.  Left, then right, she studied each - slowly meandering her way as the meaning sunk in like water through a sponge.  She felt Chakotay’s warmth from behind her, not too close, but wordlessly close enough.

The first painting was of a sunlit, grassy field.  The second, an eerily familiar grove of trees.  Then followed in suit every memory she could call to her mind from New Earth. 

A sketch of her bathtub. 

A young, tomato plant. 

A stack of silver suitcases.

Silky, auburn hair tied back with a lavender bow.

By this point, Kathryn had finally worked up the nerve to look at him.  He shrugged softly with a shy smile and then used a gentle hand to turn her back around.  She stepped forward. 

A glowing oil painting of the small, rectangular wall lamp which had cast striations of warm light across their modular home. 

A charcoal rendition of the headboard he had made her. 

Iridescent lightning, crackling blue across a darkened sky. 

She paused there for a moment and wondered why he would have chosen to have that memory depicted.  He noticed her hesitation and directed her with a waving gesture to the next item.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around slender shoulders. 

That was how he had held her during the storm - how close, how frightened, but how safe she felt.  It had been the end to her hopes of leaving that place, but also the potential beginning of so much more.  With a steadying breath she moved forward again.

Two cups of coffee.  One dark, one with painted cream.

A pale-green dress falling freely over a hangar.

Sunrise across the calm lake. 

Finally, a blurry holo-image of the monkey’s tail as it scurried up a tree. 

At this, she stifled a small laugh.  She remembered when Chakotay had snapped that shot.  When she looked at him, she saw that he was chuckling too.  

They were at the end of the row now.  Their path blocked by the original watercolor painting of the river - she and Chakotay on opposite sides.

She reached out to touch the painting as she had longed to do before.  Her finger traced a gentle path down the water.  And finally, she brought her eyes straight down to the floor to rest on the elephant in the room.

A long, large object sat in the center of the mess hall where the tables had been pushed away.  It was covered in a black sheet.   

“What’s this?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

“This is my contribution,” he said, and, with one swift move he flew the sheet away. 

Kathryn’s hand rose softly to cover her mouth, for underneath the cover, was a boat.  A beautiful, intricately crafted, rough-timbered boat.  And she was certain it had rowed right out of the painting – right out of her mind.

“Is this why...” she asked, looking back at him.

“I suggested we have dinner in your quarters last week?  Yes,” he said with a small smile.

She shook her head lightly, hand still partially covering her lips.  “How did you manage to do this?”

“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted.  “I had taken slices of a few fallen trees from New Earth when we left.  Then I used the computer to replicate full-sized logs.”

“It’s beautiful, Chakotay.  I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe if we sit, we’ll both find the words.”

She nodded.  “Yes.  Yes, let’s do that.”

He offered her his hand and she took it to step into the bow of the small vessel.  Once she was comfortably seated, he climbed in to join her and facing her from the stern he met her eyes.

For a long moment they sat in silence.  And then she spoke.

“I….I can’t believe you did this.  But what will everyone - ”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted her, wanting to set her mind at ease.  “Only Neelix knows, and only what I had to tell him.  The artists drew their challenges from a hat.”

She nodded thankfully then ran a hand along the varnished side-rail.  “I don’t want to be on opposite shores.  I never did want that and I never will.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied.  “But I don’t think we can stay here.”  Her eyes darted to the rest of the mess hall. 

“Agreed.”  His voice drifted slightly upward.   “Computer, initiate site-to-site transporter program Chakotay beta-one.”

When her bearings were returned to her, Kathryn found herself, still in the boat, on a river.  She sighed in relief at the change in scenery.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod.  “Much.”

Kathryn took in her surroundings, gently allowing herself to adjust.  She was, she realized, inside the painting.

“It’s a beautiful program,” she said.  “It feels just like the real thing.”

“We never got the chance to experience this,” he corrected gently.  “But what if I told you it was?  What if I told you, we’re on New Earth?  We never left.”

She pulled her gaze from the length of the river.  “Well, you’ve never lied to me before.  So I guess I’d have to believe you.”

“And if we were still on New Earth?”

“We would have been here quite a while now.”

He moved his gaze back to the shores of the river.  “Would it have changed things?”

“Between us?”

“Yes.”

“Probably,” she admitted honestly.  He brought his eyes back down to her level and she continued.   
“I wasn’t ready to give up on certain…hopes,” she said selecting the word carefully, “after only ninety days.  But after almost a year…”

“What hopes?”

She sighed.  “A cure, for one.  I was just getting used to the idea spending my life on the planet when Voyager came back.  Mostly because it meant letting go of real Earth - of my commitment to see everyone home.  And Mark.”

“Ah,” he said, suddenly aware of the one thing that could still very much stand between them.   “And how about now?”

“I don’t think ‘given up’ is the right phrase anymore.  Moved on, maybe.”

“We could have taken things slowly,” he offered.

“Yes.  I would have needed help, letting go.”  He nodded, allowing her time and space to continue as she felt she could.  “I still need help.”

“What could I have done, what can I do?”

She thought for a moment.  “We held hands once, I would have liked to have done more of that.”

He smiled at her simple suggestion.  “Me too, but after nine months I hope I would have helped you move past that point.”

“You might have,” she agreed with a hint of sadness.  “I guess we’ll never know.”

“We could take things slowly here too.”

She met his eyes.  “We could.”

“Truth be told, I don’t care what speed we take things at.  Just as long as we try.”

She reached across the small amount of space between them and he took her hand.  She thoughtfully examined their intertwined fingers.

“This is a good start,” he said, dimples peeking through.

She nodded, a tear beginning to form in her eye that she brushed away quickly.  Standing carefully so as not to rock their vessel, she slid to sit next to him. 

“More talking might be in order too,” she added.

“So we don’t have to keep conversing in artwork?”

“Yes.  We’ve been avoiding this for far too long.”

He nodded and leaned closer, within a hair’s breadth.  “May I propose our first topic for discussion?”

“By all means.”

“I propose my arm around your shoulder,” he said confidently.  “I think that after nine months of holding hands it would be appropriate.”

“I think after six months of avoiding the subject, it’s overdue.”

He nudged closer to her, which was easy to do given the size of the seat.  His fingertips brushed the loose strands of hair across the back of her neck and came to rest on the side of her arm.  He gripped her tenderly and she felt the muscles flex across her shoulder blades.  It sent a warm ripple throughout her body.

Kathryn let out a sigh and relaxed into his embrace. 

“Anything else you’d like to discuss?” he asked.

She raised her free hand tentatively and, with a deft motion, removed the clip from her constricted hair.  It fell gently over his arm.  She then tossed the clip with a plop into the water.

As if a visceral reaction, Chakotay leaned in and inhaled deeply the scent of her.  The unencumbered, auburn strands tickled his chin.

“I see,” he said, and his whispered words were delivered through the wind that caught in her hair. 

“Next order of business?” she asked.

“That’s up to you, Captain,” he replied with a smirk that she could hear.

“Oh no,” she said as if it were a warning.  “We were equals on New Earth.”

“It might not be that simple here.”

“You’re right, but we can deal with that later.  Let’s just pretend a while longer, shall we?  Besides, you’re the captain of this boat.”

He looked along the length of the river.  The sun was beginning to slide down, casting colorful streaks that played in the mirrored surface. 

“In that case, I have a course set for the horizon,” he said, placing a gentle kiss through her hair.  “And I don’t anticipate any rough waters ahead.”

She tilted her head to the side and examined his face.  Then she reached out and touched his cheek ever so gently. 

“That sounds perfect.”

 

* * *

 

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